


Birthright

by Gamebird



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, Gen, Murder, Non-violent Rape, Suicide, unintentional adultery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:31:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5476316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamebird/pseuds/Gamebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Setting: I Am Become Death Alternate Universe, Season 3</p><p>Summary: Noah Gray is Sylar's son and it is his conception that puts Sylar on the twisted path of redemption. Many theories have been aired about the boy's mother. In this AU, it's Sandra Bennet.</p><p>Notes: Inspired by http://sylairecommittee.tumblr.com/post/77629788754/clears-throat-but-what-if-noah-gray-is-actually . 'Syndra' is not one of the theories there, but this answers the mystery Claire's willingness to point a gun at the child, the graphic novel stating that both Noah and Sandra were dead, and Claire's statement that Sylar had taken everything from her. For reference, the episode I Am Become Death is set in the present time of late March, 2007. The future part is set four years later. The timeline that results in the IABD future doesn't include any of future!Peter's interference in the past, so Nathan is not shot at the press conference, and Arthur wins out over Angela in the Pinehearst vs Primatech battle. A more detailed breakdown of the timeline and crucial differences from canon is provided as the chapter 'Timeline' and in the deleted scene 'Peter'.</p><p>Thanks to means2bhuman for beta!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Conception

**Author's Note:**

  * For [intuitivekendrick](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=intuitivekendrick).



_May, 2007_

 

Sylar made a show of jangling keys in front of the door of Noah Bennet's Costa Verde home. He didn't bother trying to figure out which one was the house key. He didn't need to. His ability caressed the tumblers of the lock and the door opened. Sandra was looking expectantly at the door, confirming to him the need for the little bit of showmanship. He smiled. This was so easy.

 

“Noah!” she exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing home? You didn't call!”

 

He certainly looked like Noah Bennet, from head to toe and everywhere in between. Regeneration had fixed a few things – his eyes, healed some internal scar tissue, other minutia – but there was nothing visible to distinguish him from her husband - just as he wanted. The door swung shut behind him as though by itself as he sauntered towards her and the little fuzzball of a dog they had. “Oh,” he said airily, “they just brought me in to consult. You know how things are. But I told them,” he said as he walked up to her, taking her face in his hands, “that they couldn't bring me back without letting me see my lovely wife.” He kissed her, gently at first, then passionately as she responded. This was so, so easy.

 

“Oh!” she said between kisses that became more eager with every passing moment. The dog chose that point to begin barking crazily. Sandra broke off, laughing. “Oh! Mr. Muggles! You're so jealous of your mommy, aren't you?” As she bent over to baby-talk at the dog, Sylar played with her backside that so invitingly and unintentionally protruded in his direction. She looked back at him sharply and he feigned innocent disinterest. She laughed again.

 

“It's been so long,” he sighed, putting on an exaggerated air of pining. He knew he wasn't acting as Noah would day to day, but he also knew he didn't have to. He just had to play to her fantasies of how she might want Noah to act.

 

Her laughter came more easily. She stood up and pressed herself to him, grinning. “Someone must have really been missing me, then.”

 

“I always miss you, Sandra. Whenever we're apart.”

 

She scoffed and pushed him away. “Now I know you're playing! You hardly ever even call. I haven't heard from you since you left more than a month ago! Where've they had you?”

 

“All over,” he said soberly, glancing down at the dog, who was sniffing around Sylar's ankles with an unsettling determination. “But I really have missed you. Can we go somewhere ...” He jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom. Not only did he want to move this along before his act had a chance to falter, but it seemed clear the mutt knew something was wrong here.

 

Sandra raised her brows in surprise. “You're not kidding?”

 

“No,” he said quietly. “I've missed you. I love you. I want to be with you ...” then he smiled like the naughty boy he knew he was being, “now.”

 

Her smile brightened her face. She extended her hand and he took it, leading her to the bedroom in a courtly manner very out of place for Noah Bennet. The dog barked, but they shut the little cur out of the bedroom, leaving him to run around the living area restlessly.

 

XXX

 

_Mid-May, 2007_

 

A different Noah Bennet received a padded envelope that had found its way to him in Tokyo. The postmark was from Costa Verde, but without a return address. He wasn't sure what to make of that. Sandra didn't know where he was, so it couldn't be her. Pinehearst, his employer for the last month, would have never sent something through this communication channel. They certainly wouldn't have done it from Costa Verde. With some trepidation, he opened it, letting the contents slide out onto the tiny desk in his cramped hotel room. It was his wife's underwear, a negligee she'd bought for herself years ago, trying to spice things up and stir his libido. It hadn't worked, but he remembered the outfit – light blue silk fabric that matched her eyes, with a fringe of lace wide enough to conceal what little weight she'd put on over the years. Noah froze, staring at it, trying to fathom what it meant. Fear curled in his gut at the possibilities. There was also a small newspaper clipping. He unfolded it, still not having touched the undergarment. The clipping recounted, in the dry, factual tone of those reporting on uninteresting current events, the fire that had gutted the old Gray & Son's shop in New York just a few weeks before.

 

Noah felt a cold sweat break out all over him. He'd authorized that fire. Arthur Petrelli, a fearsome man, had been pressuring everyone to bring in either of his two rogue sons – Sylar or Peter – both of whom had struck out on their own after Angela fell at the end of March. It had behooved Noah to show his loyalty to the new regime. He'd liked Peter well enough – the man had saved Claire's life when he didn't even know they were related and sided with Noah and Angela when his father clearly held the advantage. Sylar, on the other hand, had tried to kill Noah's daughter in Odessa, and later done so (albeit temporarily) at Arthur's command. Picking who to focus on had been simple.

 

Noah had devised a strategy to remove every possible psychological and moral support from Sylar with the intent of making him reckless and easier to manipulate. Gray & Sons seemed like the perfect place - it was Sylar's birthplace and Gabriel's birthright. The rent was prepaid and all the various 'chronographs' inside had been deactivated and partly disassembled for long-term storage, so it obviously meant a lot to Sylar. For over a month, one of Pinehearst's finest teams of specials had staked out the shuttered shop, but to no avail. Finally, Noah had suggested they burn the place down. That should bring Sylar running.

 

Finally, trembling fingers caressed the lace. Yes, it had indeed brought Sylar out of hiding.

 

XXX

 

_September, 2007_

 

“I'm pregnant!”

 

Those two words wiped every shred of the carefully rehearsed plan from Noah's mind. He had only just set down his briefcase. His suitcase stood next to the door; the longest and most grueling 'work' trip he'd ever taken was finally over. It had been months since he'd received the package in Japan. He'd been on four continents since then, dealing with all the issues unleashed as a ripple effect from Nathan Petrelli's late March announcement that exposed specials to the world and Pinehearst's subsequent hostile takeover of the Company. He'd heard nothing else of importance in regards to Sylar – a man had died in Virginia shortly after the fire in the watch shop, and a few months later a woman in California, both of whom were killed in Sylar's signature style. But there'd been nothing that related to Noah's family. A few discreet inquiries had confirmed everyone was still accounted for – Sandra was attending dog shows, Lyle was at a Tae Kwon Do camp, and Claire still wasn't answering his phone calls, but he was reliably informed she was receiving training to be a Company field agent. He'd convinced himself the negligee only meant Sylar had broken into his house and pilfered things. It was clear now that more had happened – much more. He stared at her, aghast as his mind numbly fumbled through trying to recall the last time they had sex. It had been back when they lived in Odessa, he was sure of that much.

 

Sandra laughed, joy bubbling in her voice. “I know! It's so exciting!” She hurried around the end of the bar and threw herself into a hug with him. Weakly, he reciprocated. “I was as surprised as you are! I only found out a few days ago.” She let go, effusively continuing her explanation of events. “I'd been feeling sick off and on for a long time, but I thought I just had a stomach bug that wouldn't go away. I _do_ have a bug! Our little bug! Isn't this wonderful? We never thought we could and we _can!_ ” There were tears in her eyes. One of them spilled down her cheek as Noah stared at her, his mouth still slightly open.

 

“We … can't ...” He didn't know how to say it. He didn't know _what_ to say. He'd been so devastated by what happened with Kate that he'd had surgery so he’d never again have children who would be caught in the crossfire. The Company had given him a child anyway and Sandra had adopted a second very nearly all on her own. He'd never explained his reasons to Sandra – not about Kate, not the surgery, not the arranged marriage, nothing. Instead, he'd showed her falsified reports from an equally fake doctor that he was perfectly functional, so the problem must be hers. It had been helpful for her to believe that, but now it was inconvenient. Very, very inconvenient.

 

“Oh!” She laughed again, still very happy, still entirely oblivious to his state or the reasons for it. “I know Lyle will be in college before our littlest is in preschool, but I'll tell you, Noah Bennet, I am ready to be a mama again! It's perfect! Everything must have just been waiting for the right time. I was so afraid of what would happen to me when the house was empty – you with your work and me with just Mr. Muggles!” She bent down to pet the dog, baby-talking to him, “And here I was thinking I needed to get back into the dog business! Yes, I _was_ thinking that, Mr. Muggles! I was!”

 

Now that he looked at her, and knowing exactly what he was looking for, he saw the change to the contour of her waist. It was slight, but she couldn't be more than three or four months along. He counted back in his mind, trying to remember milestones he'd hadn't had reason to know for nearly twenty years. His voice was distant as he asked, “It's less than twenty weeks, right?”

 

“Yes, just barely. I'm already almost halfway there!” She straightened to sit on one of the tall chairs next to the bar, beaming at him.

 

“Halfway to twenty weeks?” That didn't compute with when he'd received the package. Had Sylar made more than one … visit?

 

“No, I mean halfway to term, silly! I didn't go to the doctor until late. That's what I was telling you earlier! I didn't imagine. At my age!” She cocked her head at him, finally noticing his lack of enthusiasm. “What are you thinking?”

 

“Oh,” he said weakly. The dates correlated then. There was no way the child was anyone's but Sylar's. “Well, less than twenty weeks is still good. I'm not sure about the law, but I'm pretty sure it's not too late.”

 

“Too late for what?”

 

“Too late for-” Noah steeled himself. He knew this was going to be rough. “Sandra, we can't have a baby.”

 

She blinked at him. “Noah Bennet, I am pregnant! _Obviously_ we can have a baby!”

 

He stared at her. They locked eyes. She paled and the smile fell from her face as she realized what he was saying. Her shift in expression made him bold enough to say it outright. “You have to get an abortion.”

 

She kept staring for several seconds, like he was the shape shifter. Noah's mind ran to what Sylar must have done with her and to her, perhaps repeatedly, apparently with her enthusiastic consent if her lack of mentioning any problems meant anything. It was all hitting him at once. And after what he’d had to choke down about what Sylar had done to Claire, what Claire had _let_ him do, or been forced to endure because of Arthur Petrelli! Noah had kept most of it from his wife, telling her only the most sanitized version. He bared his teeth slightly, thinking about Sylar's filthy fingers on his daughter or his wife, a different sort of violation in each case, but violations all the same.

 

Very coldly, Sandra responded, “I 'have' to do no such thing, Noah Bennet. I can't believe you would even _suggest_ that! What kind of monster are you?” Her voice rose, as did she from the bar chair. Mr. Muggles barked in agitation. One hand clasped over her stomach. She was crying again, but they weren't tears of joy this time.

 

Noah rolled his eyes. “This is ridiculous! I'm not the monster here,” he said, thinking of Sylar but of course she had no clue. His voice was harsh and no-nonsense. “And I'm not 'suggesting'. You have to! We can't raise this baby-”

 

“Get out!” She screamed at him, pointing past him at the front door. “Months and months gone and then you come home and tell me this? Take your suitcase, take your things, and get out!”

 

 


	2. Gestation

_October, 2007_

 

“Trouble on the home front?” said an irritatingly familiar voice to his left.

 

Noah didn't jump, but he certainly tensed all over. For a half second, he thought about drawing his gun and ventilating Sylar, thoroughly. It was a vivid fantasy. He didn't do it, though. They were in a public bar, well-attended by the uninvolved, but more importantly, it wouldn't do much good. “Why can't I find you when I'm actually looking for you?” Noah growled, frustrated by weeks spent hunting this man, pursuing one dead end after another in trying to trap the killer and make him pay.

 

“Ah, you Bennets are all the same,” Sylar smiled sweetly as he took the seat right next to Noah. “You want to be ready for me just like your wife was.” Sylar lofted his brows at Noah with amusement. “And oh, she was _so_ ready.”

 

Many of the reasons that applied to his gun did not also apply to his fist. Noah sent it crashing into the side of Sylar's smug face with all of his might, hitting solidly enough to knock the philanderer right off the stool and onto the floor. Bennet lunged on top of him, punching, grabbing, and snarling while Sylar inexplicably played the role of innocent victim, hands up to block his face while he cowered and called for help. It was so unsatisfying. Noah didn't resist when well-meaning bystanders pulled him away, but he did manage one last kick.

 

Sylar was helped to his feet. Noah could see the way the man's eyes darted around, weighing the mood of the impromptu crowd that had gathered to break the fight apart. The bartender was calling for both of them to be tossed out. A couple patrons argued in Sylar's defense, as he hadn't started it. A few others were talking at once to both Sylar and Noah, trying to find out what had happened and why.

 

“He raped my wife!” Noah said loudly, trying to get control of the narrative before Sylar did. It seemed to work. People quieted fast, looking to Sylar.

 

“Why don't you get her in here and ask her what happened?” Sylar snapped. “It's funny – normally in a rape story, my version and hers would be different, but this time they're not! _You're_ the one who can't handle the truth – and the truth is you're a shitty excuse for a husband!”

 

Noah stared at him, noticing what Sylar wasn't mentioning. “You don't know everything, do you?” He smiled viciously, deeply amused by the moment of uncertainty on Sylar's face.

 

“Throw them both out!” the bartender called again.

 

“He'll kill me if you do,” Sylar said matter-of-factly, eyes never leaving Noah's, trying to figure out the puzzle Noah had given him.

 

“He's got a gun,” observed one of the bystanders, having seen Noah's weapon when his jacket was opened as he was pulled off Sylar.

 

“Then throw _him_ out,” the bartender insisted about Noah, “or I'll call the cops. We'll throw the other one out,” the bartender gestured at Sylar, “later.” The crowd agreed. Hands moved Noah bodily to the front door, where he lost sight of Sylar.

 

XXX

 

_Mid-October, 2007_

 

“You were raped,” Noah told her. She'd finally consented to talk with him more than a month after she'd kicked him out. He'd been busy chasing fruitlessly after the perpetrator, but there was another clock ticking down inside of her that he had to do something about before it was too late.

 

Sandra blinked at him across the dining room table. “That's not how I remember it.” Fear colored her voice. “You said you wouldn't make me forget things anymore.”

 

“I … didn't.” For a heartbeat there, he toyed with the idea of spinning a bigger lie, that she'd been assaulted and he'd had the trauma removed, but there were too many dangling threads to deal with on the fly. “Do you remember Sylar?”

 

“The one who took Claire’s ability in March – the one you said Arthur Petrelli let do it.”

 

Noah nodded. “There are things I never told you about that. He had to cut her head open to do it. She had to die for him to get that ability.”

 

“What?” Sandra's nostrils flared. “Why didn't you _tell_ me? Obviously she didn't stay dead, but as her mother that's something I have to know! My God, Noah! He _killed_ her?”

 

Noah thought about giving his reasons for protecting her from the information, how he didn't want to have to explain why he'd gone to work for the same tyrant who had ordered that of Claire, but he knew she wouldn't understand. Staying with the Company was one of the most complicated, fraught decisions he'd made in his life – and he'd made plenty of those. This matter with Sylar's baby was simple by comparison. He stayed on point. “Sylar is trying to hurt us again. He came here a few months ago looking like me – that was him with shape shifting. I did some research. He murdered a man named James Martin in Arlington, Virginia for that ability, just a few days before he came here and … saw you.”

 

Sandra frowned. “That was you … in every way. I didn't … intentionally ...”

 

Noah shut his eyes briefly and bit his lip, knowing the level of intimacy she was implying. “Yes. I know. I've worked with shape shifters before. I … don't blame you.”

 

“Blame me? How could you blame me?” She was on her feet in a second, angry and frightened. “You're the one who works with these people with powers! You're the one who knows what they can do! Cutting into people's heads? Making their wives commit-” She shook her head vehemently. “No!” she said firmly. “None of this matters. It's still your baby.”

 

“No, it's Sylar's baby. It was him looking like me!” He was still sitting while she paced on the other side of the table.

 

“Don't you try to explain things to me, Noah Bennet! I have a baby inside of me and _you_ are my husband. According to you, I didn't do anything wrong in getting it there. That means it's _our_ baby!”

 

“If it's mine as much as yours, then I say we abort it.”

 

“It's too late for that!”

 

“No, it's not.”

 

“No! Not another round of those 'doctors' you said you went to.” She threw her head back challengingly. “I'm not as dumb as you think! I figured it out a long time ago, Mister, which one of us had the problem, but when the doctor said I was pregnant, I assumed I must have been wrong about you being impotent. So what if it was someone else? It's still our baby!”

 

“No, it's not,” he insisted, getting angry that this was taking so long to get her to understand such a simple concept. “As long as I live and breathe, a monster like Sylar is not going to father a child in this family, like some sort of god-damned cuckoo bird.”

 

“Oh,” she said sarcastically, “and are Lyle and Claire not your children either, then? Just a couple of cuckoo birds?”

 

He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. She had him there. Suddenly, he saw what she was getting at. To her, Sylar being the father was as meaningless as Claire's biological father being Nathan Petrelli. “This is different. He really is crazy. Sylar has something wrong with him drives him to kill. He's a serial killer, a murderer who gladly cut into our daughter’s head when Arthur Petrelli invited him to and now he’s assaulted _you_. He's a psychopath!”

 

She frowned. “None of that is relevant to this baby, Noah,” she said warningly.

 

“Yes, it is, because what's wrong with him is connected to his ability. The baby might inherit that ability. You know that’s possible. What’s certain is that we're not going to be able to avoid his involvement with this family any more than we did with the Petrellis. We've _lost_ Claire. She's one of Arthur Petrelli's soldiers now. They're not letting me spend any time with her. They sent me all over the planet except anywhere I could try to protect her, or you, and see what happened because of it?” He pointed at his wife’s stomach. “Claire's probably already killed people, Sandra. I asked someone who could see the future and was told this child will cause the death of _two hundred thousand people_ , right here in Costa Verde.” Sandra's eyes widened. Noah nodded. “I don't know how or why, but that's the future. What I do know is that Sylar is not going to leave us alone. Just like the Petrelli's, he's going to make sure that baby, his baby, is the same kind of person he is – the kind of person who violates on command and _rapes_ people to make a point.”

 

Sandra was silent for so long that Noah thought the matter was settled. He was just inwardly congratulating himself when she said, “You've never told me the truth about anything important like this. I don't think you're telling the truth now.”

 

“Sandra ...”

 

“No.” She sounded surer now. “You can't be sure. Just because the father's bad doesn't mean the baby will be. Nathan can fly; Claire can't. It's not always inheritable. I'm not killing an innocent child based on who they're related to or some possible future someone told you about! We saw how those paintings turned out – you died, but you came back, too. You don't know what any of this means!”

 

Noah grimaced, baring his teeth. “There will come a point where the decision is not yours to make.”

 

Almost whispering, Sandra stood stock still and asked, “What _the hell_ are you implying?”

 

“If you wait too long, things are only going to get worse.”

 

She fixed him with a stare that was a match for his in balefulness. This time, she didn't order him out of the house. She scooped up her purse and left herself.

 


	3. Terms

_November, 2007_

 

“This can't go on, Sandra.” Noah was trying to be reasonable. It was hard when he was talking through a shut door at a seedy motel. A young couple had just pulled up across the lot. They were taking way too long fiddling with the stuff in the trunk of their station wagon, obviously listening. An older gentleman had just left the motel lobby carrying a bag of popcorn, but instead of moving on to his room, he was peering up at Noah intrusively. “There are people out here,” he sighed. “Let me in. We have to talk.”

 

“Do you have your gun with you? Are you here to kidnap me like you said last time?”

 

“I didn’t say that!” He sighed heavily, looking heavenward for help. “No, I don’t and I’m not.” The gun was in the car, which was sort of with him, sort of not. His purpose as far as taking her where she didn’t want to be fell into the same category of murky ambiguity.

 

“Say 'please'.”

 

“Please.” It worked. He heard her slide the locking chain and turn the deadbolt. The door swung inward. Noah entered. The room smelled faintly of mold and Febreze. He smiled briefly at that, because the lousier the place, the easier it would be to persuade her to come back. The smile faded when he looked at her. She stood with her arms crossed, looking supremely done with him and he hadn't even said anything yet. He hoped he was imagining that her belly seemed more pronounced than it had been only a few weeks before, but he doubted it. He got to business: “I didn't mean what it sounded like I meant when we last talked. I was only saying that when the baby is born, it will be too late to change your mind then. I know things are ...” Noah gestured at her abdomen, “fairly far along, but it's not too late now.”

 

“If that's all you came here to say, then you can go home right now. Who's looking after Lyle, anyway?”

 

“Lyle is almost old enough to drive. He's fine for an evening.”

 

“Almost old enough to drive?” she said in surprised outrage. “He doesn't even have a learner's permit! He's barely even fifteen! Maybe you'd remember that if you'd been there for his last birthday? How many evenings have you left him alone recently, thinking he'd be 'fine'? What's he eating? Is he doing his homework? Is he taking drugs? Do you even know?”

 

Noah made an exasperated noise, growling, “Fine! I’ll take him to his aunt’s – him and Mr. Muggles both!”

 

“You can’t take him to her house!” She sounded scandalized. “She has cats! And that big Labrador retriever! He’d get a complex.”

 

“Lyle-“ Noah hesitated, realizing she wasn’t talking about her son.

 

“Lyle would be fine there,” she said approvingly. “Better than with you!”

 

“Then I’ll board Mr. Muggles at the kennel.” He shook his head at the priorities of the woman he’d married. “If you would just come back home, then none of this would be an issue!”

 

“Home? Yes, home, where I don't know who is who? Where I can't trust anything you say and I'm kept in the dark about what's going on with my own children? Where I don't know if I'll remember any of this tomorrow? Is that the 'home' you want me to go back to?” She started crying again and even though Noah knew the pregnancy was acting on her hormones, he still sighed at the theatrics. Plus at how frustrating the whole situation was. It would be so simple to force things – he'd done it so often with so many people – but he kept thinking he could bring her around.

 

He went to her, reaching up to take her shoulders. “Sandra, you are the mother of my children. You do not need to be the mother of this-”

 

She slapped him. “I don't want to hear another word about ending this pregnancy! Not. One. Word! I am sick to death of hearing nothing from you but the same-”

 

The door, which Noah had assumed that locked when it swung shut, came open. He gaped as Sylar sauntered in and leaned against the window that overlooked the walkway. He had a bag of freshly popped popcorn in his hand, just like the older man who had been watching him earlier. The warm, buttery scent overpowered the Febreze of the room. Sylar looked innocent and waved a hand that clutched a few popped kernels, “Don't let me interrupt. It sounded like the good part was just starting.”

 

Noah caught Sylar's noticing glance down at Sandra's stomach. He could almost see the gears turning in the man's head. “You don't belong here. This is none of your business!”

 

“Sylar?” Sandra said uncertainly. She had no memory of meeting him herself, but had been told several times that it had happened and ended badly for her. Everything she knew about him came from Noah and Claire. While she believed Claire, her daughter had dropped out of high school and run away from home to join the same line of work as her husband. When she'd talked to Claire on the phone after Noah's little revelation about what Sylar had done to her, her daughter hadn't sounded right.

 

The popcorn that had gone into Sylar's mouth was unchewed. He looked down at her belly again, eyes widening slightly. He looked to Noah with a questioning expression.

 

“Sandra,” Noah said warningly.

 

“I want to hear what he has to say!”

 

That did it. Sylar made two quick chews and swallowed roughly, an expression of surprise and amazement on his face. “Looks like it's my business after all.” He looked at Noah smugly. “You can thank your daughter for this.”

 

“Claire?” Sandra sounded confused.

 

“Regeneration,” Sylar put in, looking far too pleased with himself. “I felt the vasectomy heal when I shape-shifted, along with a few other things.” More thoughtfully he added, “Clearly, I didn’t give enough thought to the consequences.”

 

Sandra rounded on Noah. “You had a _vasectomy_?”

 

Noah turned to his wife, making placating motions. “Sandra, you can’t listen to him.”

 

“That’s not answering my question! I wanted- I thought _we_ wanted a family and you went and did that? I thought you just had something wrong with you. You actually had an operation? _When?_ ”

 

“We can talk about that later. What’s happening right now is,” Noah pointed behind him at Sylar, “that _he_ is a rapist. You do not have to carry a rapist's child to term. California has really permissive laws-”

 

“I told you – not another word!”

 

Sylar tilted his head. “The lady hath spoken.” The door opened by itself. “Go away, Noah.” With a flick of Sylar's hand, Noah was bodily thrown from the room, catching up against the railing outside. The door slammed and locked behind him.

 

For a long moment, Sylar and Sandra looked at each other across the room. Finally, Sandra gave him her best mom-look. “We need to have a talk, Mister.”

 

“Of course,” Sylar answered. “I would expect nothing less.” He pulled out the green upholstered, wood-framed chair from the shabby desk, reviewed it for a moment as if deciding if it would bear his weight, then settled into it.

 

Sandra looked at the door and said uncertainly, “Noah has a gun in his car.”

 

“I can stop bullets,” Sylar responded calmly, hands loose, elbows on knees. He leaned forward, watching her. “They won’t kill me even if I don’t. We can’t stay long, but we have at least a few minutes.”

 

Sandra gave the door a suspicious look anyway, then sat on the bed with her hands protectively clasped over her stomach. She looked to him. “Is it true that you're a serial killer?”

 

Sylar grimaced. “Technically.”

 

Sandra looked down, fingers pressed against herself.

 

“So is Noah,” Sylar offered.

 

She looked up at him sadly and sighed, fingers rubbing pensively.

 

“Noah has hunted down more people than I have. Some he's bagged and tagged. Others he's killed or set up to be murdered. Still others, he's brought in for illegal experimentation and vivisection. I know, because I was one of them,” Sylar's lip curled with disgust. “For all his disapproval of me, it was Noah who helped bring me one of my first victims, goading me on when I was trying to stop. Later, when I proved 'difficult to control', I was a subject for their experiments. They tortured me to death on Noah's direct orders. Repeatedly. And then I escaped.”

 

“So … what is all of this to you? Is it just revenge?”

 

“That's-” Sylar shook himself. “It's more now.”

 

“You're damn tootin' it is!” she said with heat. She looked down at her stomach with pursed lips before challenging, “Are you willing to help take care of this baby?”

 

“Yes,” Sylar said with utter certainty.

 

“And not just to get back at him?”

 

“I’m not going to apologize for something I don’t feel sorry for. But what I did has created … a life. That means more to me than revenge.”

 

“He tells me you can't control yourself and you kill people because of your ability. Is that true?”

 

Sylar swallowed. He lifted his brows and tilted his head slightly, glancing down. “I … _can_ control myself. But … I haven't always tried.” He looked up at her steadily then, meeting her judgmental eyes.

 

She crossed her arms. “Noah also tells me this baby is likely to have an ability. Is that true, too?”

 

“Yes.” This time the answer was quick.

 

“Then tell me – are you going to kill your baby, or are you going to control yourself?”

 

Sylar's mouth fell open and he sat up, startled by the accusation. “No ...”

 

“Everyone you've ever killed has been someone's baby. I don't know what you really did to my Claire, but I used to hold her in my arms when she was tiny. Now she won't hardly talk to me.”

 

“I-” Sylar shut up.

 

“How can I trust you?”

 

He swallowed and stared at the floor, thinking. “Noah Bennet took my past from me. But you’re holding my future.” He looked up at her, voice husky with sincerity. “For that, you have me - completely.” He considered for another moment, then added, “For the love you know a parent can have for a child – I ask that you let me know that love. If you do, then I will find a way to be a father who never leaves, never betrays, and is always there for my child. You don't have to trust me. You only have to see me as human to know that those things are so important that I would gladly do them if you would only give me the chance. That's what you can trust.”

 

Sandra regarded him for long moments, before saying, “I suppose I should tell you. I haven't even told Noah. It's a boy.”

 

Sylar's face contorted, like he was trying to smile and hide it at the same time. “A son?” She nodded. Sylar's mouth opened briefly, then shut as he thought. “Is everything … normal … so far?”

 

“Yes, everything's normal.” Now Sandra smiled. “It’s nice that you asked. Noah never has.” She went on in a tone of exasperation. “Except that I'm not supposed to have a baby at this age, my joints already hurt, and the doctor says I'm showing signs of gestational diabetes.”

 

Sylar lifted his brows to indicate he'd heard. “What do I need to do for you?” He looked uncertain, asking, “To keep you … comfortable?”

 

“It's going to be another few months. I don't know. I've always heard that older pregnancies are harder, but I never had a younger one to compare this with. I just need to live my life. Stay healthy. Not get in screaming arguments with Noah Bennet.”

 

“I can take care of him.” He stood as though preparing to do just that.

 

“I didn't say to do that!” Sandra got to her feet aggressively, moving to block the door. “You're not going to hurt him, or anyone else in my family! No more!”

 

Sylar's lips pinched together. “That’s not something I can agree to.” He hesitated and added, “But I can promise not to do anything … permanent.”

 

Sandra shook her head, lost and upset. “I don’t know what that means.” In frustration, she appealed to the universe and not to Sylar in particular, “I don't know how any of this is supposed to work!”

 

Sylar stepped to her, touching her upper arm lightly. “It works like it always does. The baby grows. He will be born when it's time. You'll be a mother again.” His face did that weird, painful smile again. “The mother of my son,” he said softly. “That makes you infinitely special to me.”

 

She looked up at him. He almost looked like he was about to lean in for a kiss. She pulled her head aside without backing down. “I don't know you that well,” she said, her voice a warning that said more than her words.

 

He made a single, chastened nod and stepped back. “Noah will be back soon with reinforcements from Pinehearst. Some of them are quite fast. They will not be turned away by anything you have to say.” Carefully, he said, “If you want to be in control of what happens to you, come with me.”

 

She looked at him with grave reservations, then in the direction she’d last seen Noah. She sighed heavily, and turned back to Sylar. “Alright.”

 

 


	4. Birth

_January, 2008_

 

The loud jangling of the bell over the door of the laundromat should have alerted her, but Sandra had just finished loading and starting the dryers. The machines ran noisily next to her as she put the box of dryer sheets into the now-empty basket. Besides, if she was expecting anyone, it was Sylar. When Noah Bennet came into view, she nearly jumped out of her skin, not least of which was because he had a gun trained on her. “What?” she said, staring at him in disbelief.

 

“Sandra. Come with me. We're leaving.” He jerked the muzzle of the gun to urge her on.

 

She looked past him at the door. But for now, she and Noah were the only ones in the place. Having been on the run for months now, she and Sylar avoided people whenever possible. “Where? Are you actually kidnapping me this time?”

 

“We're going home. Come on.”

 

“Aren't you going to take me somewhere else before home?”

 

He sighed. Weeks had dragged into months of cat and mouse, attack and counter-attack, one ploy after another. His motives were transparent and he no longer cared to conceal them. “It will be quick. You won't have to remember it if you don't want to. You won't feel a thing.”

 

Once more, she looked in the direction of the big glass panel windows on the front of the laundromat as though willing help to appear. All she saw was the empty street outside and the mountainous Oregon skyline beyond.

 

“Who are you looking for?” Noah smirked as he tracked her gaze. “Sylar? He should have been back already with takeout, shouldn’t he? I don’t think he’s going to be showing up any time soon. The others are dealing with him. It’s over.” He stepped closer to take her arm.

 

She looked at him as though looking through him, as if she saw nothing at all. She seemed frozen in place. His final words and his motion broke the spell. She yanked herself away from him. “Don't touch me,” she hissed. “At least let me get my purse! Have some decency.” She turned and picked it up from one of the hard plastic seats. She dug into it, looking for something. “Have I showed you this thing I picked up a few weeks ago just in case it ever came to this?”

 

“You can show me later. Come-” Noah's voice cut off as Sandra turned on him, her own gun in hand. Her eyes squeezed shut as she pulled the trigger convulsively, bullets flying wildly. Noah fired once before spinning and going down. He clutched at his throat as his back arched, muscles constricting of their own accord. Then his hand jerked away from the entry hole in the front of his neck. He spasmed, trembled, and died as his blood poured from the larger exit wound at the base of his skull.

 

A battered-looking Sylar found her there minutes later, crouched over his body, sobbing hysterically. He took in the sight, paused long enough to verify Noah was truly gone, then snatched up Sandra's purse and helped hustle her out the back.

 

XXX

 

_An hour later_

 

She'd been hit once in the shoulder. Ensconced in a new motel room in a new city but the same state, Sylar fussed over the bullet wound. “It doesn't seem to have penetrated the lung.” His own injuries had left nothing more than mussed hair, bloodstains on his clothes, and a nasty scorch mark down one leg of his jeans that threatened the integrity of the garment.

 

“It doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore.” She sat there stolidly, apathetic now that the first wave of panic and horror had subsided.

 

“Shh,” he said, checking the effectiveness of the clotting compound. “You're not bleeding anymore.” He sat back, looking at her with genuine concern. “I think we should go to a doctor anyway.”

 

She shook her head. “No. They'll report gunshot wounds. The others will find out. After that time with Claire week before last ...” She shook her head again. “I was crying for days after what she said.”

 

“If she shows up,” Sylar said, “we could just run again. I cut our way out of that one, I can do it again. Claire won’t even feel the pain.”

 

She gave him an exhausted, miserable look. “Do you _really_ think that's what we should do? Let you slice up my daughter after I …” Her voice caught in her throat.

 

He sighed and looked away, suppressing the impulse to fret. “No. You’re right. I shouldn’t talk about that. The smartest thing is to stay here, stay quiet, and let things cool off while you recuperate.” He turned back to her. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

 

“I just want to sleep. Nothing matters anymore.”

 

“You said that before. You matter. The baby matters. I've seen how much of a toll this is taking on you.”

 

She shook her head, lying back on the bed. “I killed my husband. My daughter hates me. She thinks I cheated with you on purpose, and that I'm still doing it now. I abandoned my son and my poor little dog … He's got to be wasting away in a kennel somewhere by now!” A sob caught in her throat again as she repeated, “And I killed my husband. Oh God … Everything!”

 

Sylar leaned in and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Despite Claire's accusations, it was as intimate as they got if you didn't count the occasional mutual belly admiration when the baby would kick or move under her skin. She shut her eyes and pretended to sleep. He left her to it, moving to his chair near the window, standing guard as he usually did.

 

She did not sleep, however. The contractions started soon, they started strong, and they kept getting worse. After nearly an hour of trying to pretend everything was okay, she glanced over to see Sylar studying her steadily, paying no attention whatsoever to the world outside. “I thought they were fake,” she told him apologetically. “The contractions - sometimes women have fake ones.”

 

“They're real contractions whether or not they lead to birth directly.”

 

She nodded and covered her face. “I wonder what they've done with Noah. Will there be a funeral? What will they tell Lyle? Will they bring Noah back to life again? Even if they do, I still killed him! How do you deal with,” she stopped to pant, “having killed so many people?”

 

“I try not to think about it,” Sylar said, getting up from his chair and fetching her a damp cloth for her forehead. He sat with her quietly through the next four contractions, keeping track of the time. “I need to get you to a hospital. There's only so much the books we read can tell us.”

 

“I can't-” She panted. “The stress. The shooting. It must have brought it on early.”

 

“I know. But it's not _very_ early. He's nearly to term. I'll carry you.” Carefully, he gathered her up.

 

XXX

 

_Hours after that_

 

The tiny, but healthy, baby boy was now sprawled on his mother's bare chest, both of them getting some well-earned rest. Sandra's usually well-developed sense of propriety had gone out the window early in the birth process. Partly nude or not, there was nothing about the maternal scene that struck Sylar as inappropriate. They were beautiful together. Even the various medical sensors and the bandage covering Sandra's bullet wound could not detract from the scene. Sylar watched them sleep for most of an hour before noticing a packet of documents on the counter that hadn’t been there when they'd been brought to the room hours earlier. He drew them to him with telekinesis. His brows furrowed as he flipped the pages to read them.

 

She shifted on the bed, turning her head to focus on him, one hand touching the baby's back. “You're still here,” she said softly.

 

“Did you think I would leave?” He leaned closer, glancing at the baby, but mainly looking at her. Her eyes were tired and bloodshot. She was easily old enough to be his mother. She was faithful, sensible, and had a strong sense of right and wrong. He had grown to respect her a great deal. “When did this happen?” He showed her the documents.

 

“When you left with the baby. When they were doing their tests or whatever. They wanted me to fill everything out, then I realized it might lead the others to us. I told them I wanted to talk to you about it first, but there's nothing there I want to change.”

 

He nodded. “I could only be with one of you. They didn’t do anything with the baby that looked wrong. As for these,” he waved the papers, “that was smart of you. It's that much more time before they input records of us being here.” Together they looked at the baby, all reddish skin and wispy dark hair.

 

“You said there was nothing you wanted to change,” he said eventually, indicating the papers again, “but I see you listed me as the father – ’Gabriel Gray’?”

 

“He’s going to need his daddy.” Tears flowed down across her temples, but she made no other sign of her continuing grief about killing her husband. “I know I told you I was going to put Noah on there. I thought we could reconcile once the baby wasn’t just an idea, once he was holding him, like he did with Claire and then Lyle … that we could be a family again. It’s not going to happen. I have to,” she swallowed thickly and nodded to herself, “I have to deal with that.”

 

“’Gabriel’,” he repeated as though trying to name on for size.

 

“You can’t be,” she paused to sniffle, “that man who killed all those people anymore. You can’t be the father my husband was – always … gone, hurting people, thinking his way was the only way because he had enough resources to make it happen. You have to be the sort you promised me you’d be. I went with you because you said you could do that, because you didn't _make_ me go with you.”

 

He looked at her wide-eyed for a long moment, then nodded. “I will.” He set the papers aside. The baby was beginning to stir.

 

Sandra turned the babe so she could see the infant’s face, baby-talking at him, “Be a good little man. Mama knows you can do it. You have brown eyes just like your daddy’s. Yes, you do.” She smiled brokenly through her tears.

 

Gabriel touched the unbelievably soft skin of the baby’s back, stroking it lovingly. “Noah … _Gray_.”

 

Sandra watched how Gabriel looked at the baby for a long time. Finally, she offered the infant to him. “Take him. He needs you.” Gabriel took the child, cradling him safely but awkwardly in his arms, struggling with how disturbingly floppy a newborn could be. “Noah,” Sandra said softly, and Gabriel could sense she wasn’t referring to her son by how distant and unfocused her gaze was. “Oh, Noah … It’s all over now.” She turned away. Though still quiet, he could hear her sobbing. The hospital had left a bright blue blanket for the child, along with a diaper bag and some samples. He wrapped the baby in the blanket, fed the little one the half-a-thimble-full of formula that his tiny stomach could hold, and stayed vigilant.

 

 


	5. After

_That night_

 

As soon as Sandra was able to walk out under her own power, they left. Fending off interfering medical staff and getting themselves across town to a hotel was easier than it would have been for anyone not accompanied by a walking powerhouse of abilities and no hesitation about using them.

 

The hotel room Sandra entered later turned out to be a suite. “Wow,” she said. “I can see why they wanted a deposit.” It was much nicer than any other place they'd stayed in.

 

Gabriel shrugged. “All I asked for was a jacuzzi, two rooms with beds in each, and room service. Speaking of which ...” He dropped the bags on the couch in the central area, snatched up the menu next to the phone, and started scanning it. “I'm starved!”

 

Sandra explored the suite, standing in front of the big hot tub in what seemed to be the 'master' bedroom. “I understand the other two things you asked them for, but I didn't know you had a thing for bath tubs.”

 

He shrugged, following her into the room, menu still in hand. “It's for you. In case you need to ...” He waved a hand at her lower parts and shrugged.

 

She nodded. “I can use it.” She patted the baby, rocking back and forth as she did it, eyes fixed on the tub.

 

“What do you want to eat?”

 

“Nothing.” She shook her head.

 

“Sandra,” he said gently, “you haven't eaten in a day and a half, at least. You need your strength.”

 

“Strength? I don't even think I can poop.” She gave him a long look, realizing how little he knew of what was going on in her head. She smiled at his concern. “You're the one who's strong, Gabriel.” She offered him the baby, whom he took with a puzzled look at her. “I'm still queasy. Just,” she knew he would stay alert until she did what he wanted, “get me some chicken soup with a lot of crackers, okay?”

 

“Okay,” he nodded.

 

“I think we're as safe here as we're going to get.” She went back into the main room and sorted through the things in the free diaper bag the hospital had provided. “Formula, diapers, wipes,” she said as she set the useful items aside and tossed a small pile of coupons and promotional literature in the trash. “You'll need to get more of those.”

 

Gabriel nodded absently, holding up the single onesie that had come with the bag. Tiny Noah would fit through one of the leg holes. He laid it next to the baby's body. It was absurdly too large. “He's so small,” Gabriel muttered. “The doctor said he wasn't premature enough to need breathing treatments or life support.”

 

“Like you said: he'll grow. That's what babies do.” Sandra kissed the baby on the forehead, then repeated the gesture with Gabriel. He smiled up at her, the harsh, threatening set his features held as a default falling away to reveal a warmth and innocence she'd only caught glimpses of in their rough months on the run together. She asked him, “You really are sweet, you know that?”

 

He smiled shyly. “I'm glad you think so.” She mussed his hair. Noah cried, so Gabriel wrapped him up again in the soft blue blanket the hospital and tucked the tiny tot into the crook of his arm. He settled back to wait for the food to arrive.

 

Sandra wandered into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. She undressed mechanically, then sorted through her purse until she found the gun. She sat on the edge of the jacuzzi with it in her hand for several minutes, thinking about how Noah's body had spasmed and bled on the floor of the laundromat, how Gabriel had dragged her away from the slowly cooling corpse, how she'd still been wearing his blood around the edges of her fingernails when she'd gone into the hospital. It was still there now, she noticed. Washing her hands had not been a priority, and since her water had already broken, any fluids on her were assumed to be her own. She didn't wash her hands now. She climbed into the empty tub.

 

She didn't have much time. She didn't want to wait until the food was delivered and have ever-attentive Gabriel knocking at her door to tell her the soup had come. She didn't want anyone to have to fuss too much to clean up after her. The hot tub was a good idea, she decided. She considered the angles, gave careful thought to the direction of bullet and spray, and pulled the trigger.

 

XXX

 

_Epilogue: one week later_

 

“Father.”

 

“Son.” There was no more inflection in Arthur’s voice than in Gabriel’s.

 

“I’m calling to inform you of the birth of your most recent grandson.”

 

“Oh?” Arthur's voice took on a cheerily formal tone. “Congratulations are in order then.”

 

“The baby means nothing to you,” Gabriel said in disgust. “I saw how much you cared about your family when you killed my mother. But I have _power_ and that – that means something to you. I have a deal to offer you now that I have a son – a deal that will keep me from using that power against you.”

 

A long pause elapsed before Arthur finally asked, “And what is this deal?”

 

“As long as my son lives, and you leave him and me to live in peace, then I will not stand against you in any way.”

 

“Hm,” Arthur said agreeably. “As opposed to the many alternatives available to me?”

 

Gabriel tilted his head slightly at the threat. “If you could have caught me already, you would have. Because you're my father, I haven't come after you at all. But if you take this boy from me, that will end and you know it. Also, I'm taking the Bennet house in Costa Verde. By rights, he has a share of it. That way you'll know where to avoid. Do you accept?”

 

This pause was not so long as the previous one. “Yes.”

 

After a moment of silence, Gabriel clicked off the phone and tossed it on the cushion next to him. He rubbed at his face with both hands. At the other end of the couch sat Peter Petrelli, with the bundled baby sleeping in his lap. “It's done,” Gabriel said, stating the obvious. Peter had, no doubt, heard every word of the conversation.

 

“Almost,” Peter said with a shrug. “There's just one last thing – we've got to break Mr. Muggles out of doggy-kennel-jail and then you'll be all set.”

 

 


	6. Timeline

**Author's Notes:**

When I started writing this, it began as just an idea – 'What if Noah Gray's parents were Sylar and Sandra?' I thought I could explore the idea in a single scene of a few hundred words, maybe a thousand if it got complicated. Six thousand words later, I had a first draft. Eight thousand additional words later, I had a second draft, which was cut down to a total of nine thousand words to make the fic you've seen here. Between the first and second draft, I discovered that I'd forgotten or muddled a surprising degree of the Heroes canon. I had to research and rediscover, a process made more complicated by the fact that the story I was writing springs from circumstances that didn't happen in canon (or at least, we didn't get to see them on screen – we only saw the result). To save you the trouble of working things out, I'll summarize them here:

 

  * The story starts back in Season 2. Canon recounts the little rampage of Adam and Peter that ends at the vault in Primatech. Adam gets whisked away by Hiro while Peter immolates the virus. Peter and Nathan, finally reunited after a season apart, decide the secrecy of the Company founders must end. Specials must be exposed. The public needs to know the truth. In canon, future!Peter shows up and shoots Nathan just as he's about to blurt it all out to the press. In my story, we see the timeline that happened to make future!Peter in the first place. It's a timeline where Nathan's press conference went off without a hitch – specials are revealed, himself and Peter first among them.
  * Then we move into Season 3. In canon, S3 saw the rise of Pinehearst, Arthur Petrelli being restored through Adam's ability, Sylar taking Claire's ability, being told he's a Petrelli, teaming up with Elle, and eventually killing her. He's also pivotal in the struggle between Angela and Arthur. Peter's abilities were stripped from him by Arthur. It's through Sylar's interference that Arthur dies and Angela wins out. Remember – all of this happens _after_ Nathan is shot at the teleconference and although I keep many of the key events, they come about differently and some not at all.
  * Besides putting bullets into Nathan, future!Peter also called Claire and told her to stay home. She'd seen the teleconference and was just about to leave the house to join up with Nathan and Peter. Future!Peter tells her not to. As a result, she's home when Sylar shows up to take her power. So in my story, the 'original' timeline, future!Peter wasn't around to tell her not to come and she's gone when Sylar arrives. Sylar doesn't terrorize her in her own home and take her ability.
  * Sylar does go on to Primatech. After all, he's following Claire and that's where she went, joining up with Nathan and Peter, who had moved on towards New York or DC by the time Sylar showed up in Odessa, just hours behind them. Sylar killed Bob Bishop just like in canon. He attacked Elle just like in canon. He was put in a cell, just like in canon. However, I took the liberty of not having Angela give him a special. This is a different timeline where he goes years believing he's a Petrelli. Maybe in this AU he actually is her biological son. I don't know. But she doesn't give him a special because I wanted to enhance his personal loyalty to her as his mother. So Bridget doesn't die.
  * Sylar does go on to work with Noah for a bit to recapture the Level 5 folks who got out when he attacked Elle and she shorted out the systems. That bit of canon remains untouched.
  * Meanwhile, Arthur gets hold of Adam pretty much as we saw in canon and whatever he does to Adam, it restores Arthur and he reinvigorates his company, Pinehearst. Angela goes into a coma. Arthur tries to bring his other family members (Claire, Peter, Nathan, Sylar) to heel. We know Peter sides with Angela and Nathan with Arthur. We know Sylar plays both off one another. Noah, who is on Angela's side, is doing just what he did in canon and trying to keep Claire from getting involved, so of course she sides with Nathan and Arthur. Also, in this version, she hasn't undergone the trauma of Sylar's attack.
  * In canon, Arthur gives Elle to Sylar, encouraging him to develop his empathy. Since the circumstances are different, I had Arthur pose a different challenge – on one hand, he orders Claire to share her ability on Arthur's command, and on the other, he orders Sylar to take an ability when directed. It's a loyalty test of both of them, contributing to making Claire the callous person we see in canon IABD future, and making Sylar a powerful enough tool in Arthur's arsenal to face off against Peter.
  * Hearing that Claire let Sylar killer her and take her ability, Noah assumes Arthur has brainwashed her. He abducts her, taking her to Canfield's house so he doesn't have to explain things to Sandra. Sylar and Elle are sent to get her back. When the eclipse happens, Elle takes the opportunity to kill Sylar by slitting his throat. She gets Claire back to Arthur, but because she left Sylar behind, he's not around when Peter and Rene confront Arthur. That leaves Nathan in the position of taking the bullet, literally. Peter rushes Nathan to medical care and saves his life. With Peter distracted dealing with Nathan, Arthur moves on Angela and kills her.
  * That's such a big deal that Sylar, rather than merely taking his time to come back after getting offed by Elle, doesn't go back at all. Peter, rightly thinking his father will kill him, too, if he ever catches him (and at the very least drain his powers, which Arthur has not managed to do in this timeline), goes into hiding. Nathan recovers and will go on to be president. Arthur is still alive and running Pinehearst, as well as the Company.
  * With Angela dead, Arthur takes over the Company and puts Noah in the field to help co-opt the Company branches in other countries, bring in any wayward agents, and provide information and training on specials worldwide. Stateside, other Company/Pinehearst agents are doing the same thing, but Arthur has a specific purpose in keeping Noah away from Claire, whom he is grooming into a ruthless killing machine, utterly loyal to him. He isolates her from her family, which is why Sandra knows little of what's happened to Claire. In canon, Sandra came home to find Claire broken after Sylar's violation of her. In this timeline, that never happened and although Sandra has some issues with Claire's lack of contact, she has no reason to believe anything awful has happened until Noah starts telling her. The details of how Sylar takes an ability have definitely never been explained to her, and her memory of Sylar trying to kill Claire at the stadium was wiped in canon.
  * Elle survives. She's alive in this timeline.
  * As for where Sylar gets shapeshifting, which wasn't available until later in S3 during the Danko arc, I moved that up a little for story convenience. It seemed invaluable if Sylar was on the run from Pinehearst, and like the sort of ability he would actively seek out as part of his escape strategy. Plus, it made the whole 'Syndra' thing possible.



 

 

So that's the timeline. A big part of the second draft was working that out and writing it in somewhere that readers could get it, even if it kind of came late in the story. Then my beta and I decided that it really didn't add to the core story of how Noah Gray comes to be. So it got cut, along with some extraneous footage from the hospital and hotel. But since they were written, I attach them here as subsequent chapters for those curious. You can consider them as 'deleted scenes'.

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Deleted Scene: 'Hospital to Hotel'

Deleted scene, 'Hospital to Hotel'. These 2,000 words were replaced by the following much more succinct paragraph:

_As soon as Sandra was able to walk out under her own power, they left. Fending off interfering medical staff and getting themselves across town to a hotel was easier than it would have been for anyone not accompanied by a walking powerhouse of abilities and no hesitation about using them._

 

Here's the full version:

 

 

_That night_

 

Sandra jumped as her husband, still bleeding from the hole she’d put in his throat, grabbed her arm and wouldn’t let go. She shrieked and flailed, but it only meant the grip tightened as other bonds pinned her to the bed. She blinked her eyes open, shaking off the nightmare. Gabriel’s voice was urgently repeating her name in a loud whisper. Panting, she stared up at him. He was standing next to the bed, holding her baby, and somehow holding her down at the same time. His free hand was splayed in her direction. “Your … ability?” she asked of the unseen force pinning her.

 

Gabriel nodded. He lowered his hand and the bonds lifted, except for the one on her arm. She looked at it sharply, seeing the annoying, automatic blood pressure cuff – the one that went off every fifteen minutes without fail, mercilessly depriving her of sleep or even decent rest. “Oh my God, I thought that was …” She shook her head. “I thought someone had me.”

 

“No,” he said quietly. “But the nurses came for the paperwork again. I told them we lost it and I wouldn’t let them wake you. As soon as they think you’re awake, they’ll be back in here to get everything filled out a second time.”

 

“Leave me here. I can deal with them – nurses, Arthur's people, police, whoever. I'm only going to slow you down.”

 

Gabriel studied her for what seemed like an eternity before saying, “My completely mercenary response is that I can't leave you here because Arthur's people will interrogate you for answers and try to hold you hostage against me. It’s what I’d do.”

 

“But I don’t know anything!”

 

“And my … not-so-mercenary response is to observe that they won’t know that until they’re done with you,” he said grimly. “I will refuse to trade my freedom and this boy's safety for your life, not that I could expect them to honor such a trade anyway. That means-”

 

They both jumped at a knock at the door. It opened before either of them had a chance to respond. A nurse came in. “Oh! You’re awake. We’ve been waiting for that. Just a moment-“

 

“No,” Gabriel said, stepped forward, putting on a charming facade nothing like the clipped logic he'd been delivering a few moments before. “I found the papers you were looking for earlier. They were just out of the way is all.” He pulled them out of their small stash of personal items – a medium sized duffel bag that Sandra and Gabriel shared for their supplies and what few remaining clothes hadn't been lost at the laundromat, a hospital-issued diaper bag full of samples and baby-related coupons, and Sandra’s purse. He handed the documents to the nurse. “I remembered them after you left earlier.”

 

“Where were they?” she asked suspiciously. Gabriel smiled innocently and gave a hapless shrug. “Alright,” she said, rifling through them. “It looks like it’s all here. Ma’am, do you want to review these again to make sure nothing’s changed?”

 

Sandra shook her head. “Nothing’s changed.”

 

“Are you sure?” The nurse shot Gabriel an uncertain look as though he might have altered the paperwork.

 

“I. Am. Positive,” Sandra bit out with heat. “You people won’t let me sleep, you’re questioning me all the time, I just had a baby, and I ki- Get out!” Everything that had happened in the last twelve hours came crashing down on her at once. The tears didn't come this time, but it was like everything else fell away into a void and it was only her in existence. She didn’t notice when the nurse left and barely paid attention to Gabriel unfastening the blood pressure cuff and disconnecting the various monitors they had stuck to her chest. She finally roused at the sharp sting when he removed the IV line. “What are you doing? They’ll only come back in here. The alarms …”

 

Gabriel shook his head, peeling back the blankets with his free hand. “They have what they want. They’ll leave us alone for a few minutes, at least.”

 

“Why did you give her those papers? Once they enter everything in their system, we have to start worrying about Arthur again.” She tried to sit up, but it was utterly impossible. Her stomach muscles didn’t work at all. It was something else she’d read about, but this being her first pregnancy, she’d never experienced it.

 

“I never _stopped_ worrying about him,” Gabriel said. “We need to move.” He provided his arm and she pulled herself up.

 

“What about the baby?” She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and took the infant from him. The idea of getting on her swollen feet, balancing with her overtaxed core muscles, and dealing with the hole ripped into her between her legs, less than a day after giving birth, was daunting. She wasn’t even sure things wouldn’t ‘fall out’ when she stood up.

 

“The doctor said he wasn’t premature enough to need breathing treatments or life support.” Gabriel stopped after hefting their bags. He looked between her and the child. “We both know Noah was not operating alone.” She must have looked a sight, because the man studied her with that peculiar intensity he often had. “ _Can_ you do this?”

 

Sandra took in a long, tired breath, then let it out in an equally long sigh. Though her mind was clouded with exhaustion, pain, grief, self-loathing, and worry, the answer was clear. “I _have_ to. I can’t stop until he’s safe.” She took a tottering, but determined step.

 

“Let me carry the baby. Here's your purse.”

 

“You're right.” She traded reluctantly. “You can protect him better than I can,” she said distantly.

 

Gabriel shrugged, adjusting the straps of the duffel and diaper bags on one shoulder while he held the child with the other arm. “Let’s go.”

 

They didn’t even make it to the nurse’s station, much less past it, before they were confronted. “Are you leaving?” one of the nurses said in cheery disbelief, moving herself directly into Sandra’s path. “I don’t think the doctor has cleared that yet.” She had the fixed smile of trained customer service plastered on her face.

 

“Yes, we’re leaving,” Sandra growled, carefully stepping around her. So far, her internal organs were staying that way. The two other nurses at the station came out into the wide hallway at Sandra’s answer.

 

“Honey, you don’t have to do a thing he tells you-“ started one of the nurses, gesturing at Gabriel.

 

“This isn’t about him!” Sandra said stridently, sudden energy suffusing her. “Why do people always think it’s about some _man_?! It’s about _me_! It’s about _my baby_! That’s what it’s about! Now get out of my way!” She didn’t know she had the strength or the passion left in her to yell, but she did. She got her hands on the nearest nurse and shoved her sideways, pushing her to the floor. Sandra nearly went down herself, but Gabriel (who was carrying two bags and the infant), somehow spared a hand to grab her by the back of her shirt and pull her upright.

 

“I’m calling security!” one of the other nurses piped up. Another one said, “This is child endangerment!”

 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. Sandra fell in beside him, stomping as much as she dared, as they continued towards the exit. Two security guards in navy uniforms met them there, trying to act conciliatory. Gabriel swept them out of their way with a casual wave of his hand. They tumbled to the floor. Gabriel and Sandra walked outside, where the freezing bite of the wind went right through Sandra’s clothes. While pregnant, the cold weather hadn't bothered her a bit. That was no longer the case. The moment of elation she’d felt at getting out faltered in the face of the icy January breeze. “We need to find a taxi,” she said.

 

“Over here,” Gabriel said, heading purposefully down the sidewalk. A car was idling next to the curb. A middle-aged couple was helping an elderly woman out of the car and into a wheelchair. By the time Sandra reached them, they were all out, clustered around the seated older woman, giving advice and well wishes. Gabriel commandeered their vehicle as easily as he’d dismissed the guards. In seconds, they were driving away.

 

Sandra huddled in the passenger seat, feeling sick and spent. The baby was crying, likely even more chilled than she'd been. Luckily, the car was warm. She turned the knobs until heat was rapidly pouring out of the vents. “I don't think it's legal for me to be sitting up here in the front seat with a baby in my arms.”

 

Gabriel snorted. “I'm sure the lack of a proper infant car seat will be at the top of the authorities' list of charges when they stop us.”

 

“If I didn't feel like so much warmed-over crap, I'd laugh,” she said.

 

Gabriel cast her an appraising look, then went back to watching the road. In short order, he found what he wanted, dropping her at a convenience store where she called a cab, while he drove several blocks away and parked the car. They repeated the process a few times until the last cab dropped them off in front of an upscale hotel. Sandra found herself zoning out again as she stood in the lobby, numb to the world. Even the baby in her arms didn't feel real. Nothing did, except the feeling of her finger on the trigger as she'd fired wildly in Noah Bennet's direction. That felt real, even though she knew the gun was buried in her purse.

 

Finally, Gabriel took her elbow and led her to the elevator. She asked blearily, “What was all that about?”

 

“They wanted a credit card,” he answered. “It took more cash than it should have to take care of it. I'll have to sell some more gold soon.”

 

“Why should they care if we have a credit card if we have enough money for the room?”

 

He shook his head. “They want to be able to collect for room damages.”

 

“I wonder why they'd think that? We're such a nice couple … me looking like you dragged me out of the gutter and you ...” She looked at him. He must have combed his hair in the hospital room. His clothes were perfect now, which she'd seen before as a convenient side effect of shape shifting. “You looking like a male model.” She shook her head ruefully. “If I were twenty years younger and not-” _married_ , she'd almost said. Tears welled up in her eyes again. She rubbed them away angrily as Gabriel gave her an awkward smile.

 

Their room turned out to be a suite. “Wow,” she said. “I can see why they wanted a deposit.”

 

 

 


	8. Deleted Scene: 'Peter'

Deleted scene, 'Peter':

 

_Four days later (still early January, 2008)_

 

Gabriel stood outside the establishment, double-checking the address on the bit of yellow paper against that on the building. It was a match, but the place was not what he'd been expecting. Not that he'd had a lot of expectations from a post-it note with nothing on it but an off-beat Las Vegas address and the cryptic message, 'Family ties mean something to me, Peter.' Still, he hadn't thought it would be something as aptly-named as the Rogue Gentlemen's Club.

 

Scowling at his brother's dramatic and stupid sense of humor, he pushed his way inside. The smell of alcohol and heavy breathing, the dim lighting, the jacked up bouncer; none of it was bad, per se, but … it was a strip club. Everything was done on a background of black – walls, ceilings, floors – and where it was lit, it was in purple, pink, red, and blue. The sensuous beat of a popular song throbbed through the air. He scowled anew, as though his purpose in finding Peter had turned sinister. He put a protective hand over the lump under his jacket that represented his son. He ignored the bouncer, who scoped out the gesture, but let it pass without inquiry. Gabriel walked forward with a slow, methodical pace, scanning the place and the patrons. Almost immediately, the baby began to squirm.

 

It had to be the noise. He opened his jacket and felt around inside, pulling the child up where he was flat against Gabriel's chest instead of cuddled in a ball beside it. This had calmed the baby before and helped now, but it took Gabriel's attention off his task. A waitress in a mockery of a three-piece-suit, far too small and exposing a great deal of skin, paused in front of him. “Oh! Is that a baby?” She squealed. “He's so teeny and a- _dor-_ able!”

 

An overweight man sitting at the bar to Gabriel's right turned and peered at all that could be seen of the child – a balding bit of head. It was amazing and annoying the waitress had even made the baby out at all. “Why do you have a baby in here?” the man asked gruffly, the tone of his voice conveying that Gabriel must be some manner of pervert.

 

Gabriel ignored him, reaching up lightning fast to seize the woman's wrist as she reached to touch the baby's head. She gasped.

 

The man on the bar stool said critically, “Hey, bub, you're not supposed to touch the staff. Don't you know that?”

 

“Like he said: No touching,” Gabriel repeated, glaring at the woman, who looked suitably frightened now. He growled, “Find Peter Petrelli. Tell him I'm here.” He released her, feeling vindicated to see her scuttle away in a hurry. The overweight man next to him glanced back towards the door. Without looking, Gabriel knew the bouncer was moving in. He weighed his options and waited for the man to arrive. If he was bounced for grabbing the waitress' arm, then he could wait for Peter outside even better than in here, where there were too many curious eyes for his liking.

 

“Sir?”

 

Gabriel turned slowly, sneering. One hand was slightly raised, empty in a false gesture of surrender. The other still rested over his precious cargo, who was beginning to fuss in addition to squirming.

 

The bouncer eyed the open hand as though fully aware it was the equivalent of having a cocked gun pointed in his direction. Respectfully, he dipped his head and gestured forward, rather than towards the door out. “We have a private room in the back if you're here to see someone.”

 

Gabriel cocked his head. There was something in the cadence of the man's words that sounded a lot more like upper class New York than the flats of Nevada. His sneer turned to a smirk. He turned and went where directed, closely followed until the bouncer paused to talk to the bartender and the waitress Gabriel had accosted. Gabriel continued on, opening the door marked 'Authorized Personnel Only – Restricted Area'. Beyond it was a short hallway, thankfully painted and lit normally, if dimly. He could see a brightly-lit dressing area at the end of it where a leggy blonde in a slinky red dress was making touch-ups to her makeup. He pushed open a door to his right to find a spacious executive office. This, he entered, leaving the door cracked behind him.

 

The office was bigger than some of the motel rooms he and Sandra had shared, with a round table with four chairs around it nearest the door, a comfortable-looking couch on the other side of the room with a mini-fridge next to it, and a battered but originally expensive cherrywood desk at the far end, flanked by file cabinets and set in front of a wall of shelves. Mostly filled, he saw as he reached it, with books on law and accounting, rather than anything lascivious. Approving, he took a seat in the stuffed leather swivel chair and kicked up his feet on the desk. He was cooing softly at the fussy baby on his chest when the bouncer moved into the room, face switching to Peter's the moment the door was shut behind him. Gabriel snorted softly in vindication of his earlier perception.

 

“Sylar.” Peter stayed in front of the door.

 

“Gabriel,” he corrected. He kept his hand over the baby, the other rested on the edge of the desk, palm up.

 

“That doesn't work.”

 

“What?” He looked affronted at the possible insult.

 

“Changing your name. I still found you.” Gabriel's brows drew together slightly in confusion. Peter went on, “With Molly's ability. Do you think Arthur's not going to be able to find you eventually anyway, because you changed your name? Matt and Maury are still protecting Molly from him, but I doubt that will last forever.”

 

“I didn't change it for Arthur. I changed it for Noah.” As if understanding his name, the baby let out a loud squall and a more energetic squirm than usual.

 

Peter was still by the door, hands behind him on either side, palms resting lightly on the wood. “I doubt it will throw _him_ off the scent either.”

 

Irritated, Gabriel clarified, “Noah Bennet is dead. This,” he indicated the child, “is my son Noah _Gray_ and that's who I've changed my name for, at the request of his mother.”

 

“Where is she?” Peter's voice was soft.

 

Gabriel's irritation faded. He looked at how Peter was standing, how he was still keeping his distance. “It wasn't me. She died by her own hand.” Gabriel swallowed and changed the subject, snapping, “Why are you standing over there like that?”

 

“Because I also have a pretty good sense of your emotions.” Peter made a 'duh' tilt of his head. Gabriel glared at him. “Look at yourself,” Peter said.

 

Gabriel gave himself a glance. His clothes were clean and appropriate, but it was the posture Peter must have been referring to. He dropped his feet to the floor and sat up, opening his jacket so he could reposition the baby.

 

Peter started towards him very, very slowly. He went to a knee when he reached Gabriel's side, reaching up and lifting his brows. “Can I see him?” Gabriel studied him and did nothing, leaving Peter's hands empty. Unlike the waitress, Peter showed no signs of reaching those last few inches. Instead, Peter tilted his head and put one hand on his knee and the other on the desk. He said, “He's the reason I left you the note. A month ago, they had a reward out for you, dead or alive. I didn't do anything, because you're an adult, you can take care of yourself, and I had other people I was trying to help. But then yesterday morning, I heard something different – still you, dead or alive, but now it was that you were accompanied by a baby, a newborn … and they wanted him dead or alive, too.” Gabriel stiffened. Peter ducked his head a little, sucking in his lips and chewing them for a moment. “As soon as I heard that, I found you using Molly's ability. I teleported there. I left you a note and got out, because the last thing someone who's being hunted needs is for someone with abilities to show up unexpected and scare the crap out of them.”

 

“You wouldn't have scared me,” Gabriel said coolly. But he was listening and thinking.

 

“Of course not,” Peter agreed, smiling a little. “But I needed to let you make the first move. If you don't want my help, you know where the door's at.” He lifted his hands for the baby again.

 

After a long pause, Gabriel finally handed the baby to him, the infant still crying softly and squirming. “He must be hungry again.” Gabriel dug a pouch of formula out of a pocket, along with a bottle that held no more than a cup.

 

“Hey there,” Peter said softly to the baby. “I'm your Uncle Peter, little guy.” To Gabriel, Peter observed, “He's wet.” He held the baby closer and checked him over. He was touching at the umbilical stump when Gabriel handed Peter a crumpled diaper. “I … uh ...” Peter looked between the diaper and the child uncertainly.

 

With grim amusement, Gabriel said, “Haven't you ever changed a diaper, Peter?”

 

“On adults.” He looked at the tiny baby. “Geriatric patients. They're … bigger.”

 

“It's probably not that different. You get the hang of it when you have to do it twenty times a day.”

 

Peter sighed. He rotated on his heels and adjusted to sit cross-legged on the floor, his knee touching Gabriel's shin so he didn't take the baby any further away than he absolutely had to. He put the child in his lap and removed the other diaper. Gabriel watched him for a moment, then summoned a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. He picked up a heavy bar glass from next to the computer keyboard on the desk and examined it unhappily. It looked clean, but apparently did not meet his standards.

 

“How premature was he?” Peter asked.

 

Gabriel set down the bar glass. “He was born at thirty-five weeks.”

 

“He's very thin.”

 

“I _said_ ,” Gabriel spoke defensively, “thirty-five weeks. Preterm babies are always thin. I feed him constantly. Or at least it feels like that. He wouldn't be going through so many diapers if he wasn't getting anything.”

 

“That's good. Appetite is always awesome. Great sign.” Peter spoke as he struggled to find the right tabs. It wasn't until he had it on that he realized it was backwards. He frowned up at Gabriel, who had been watching with a faint smile. Gabriel said nothing. Peter took the diaper off and reversed it. Noah had had quite enough, though, and was crying heartily by the end of it.

 

“Let me have him,” Gabriel said gently, taking the baby from Peter and soothing him.

 

Peter took up the bar glass and turned away, cupping his hands around it. They emitted a flash of light. He turned back and got up to set the glass on the desk. “It's sterile now,” he explained, dumping the formula in it and cracking open the water bottle. “How much?”

 

“Five ounces. But I have to throw most of it away. He drinks less than an ounce at a time and he'll be hungry again in an hour.”

 

“Hm.” Peter added water carefully.

 

“How do you know how much is five ounces?”

 

“I work the bar when I'm not bouncing ruffians,” Peter said absently, deciding he'd added enough. “To your right, in the middle drawer, there's a spoon.”

 

Gabriel found it. “That's a lot of dishes,” he said of the contents of the drawer. He handed over the spoon, which Peter sterilized as he had the glass. “I live here. Sleep on the couch. Work in the bar. Eat here sometimes. Teleport wherever I need to go someplace else. It holds down on the chances for outsiders to see me coming and going.” He cupped his hand around the bottom of the glass, concentrating on it for a moment before pouring into the bottle. “You're not the only one with a reward out for him.”

 

“Dead or alive?'

 

“No. Just dead.” Peter screwed the cap on and handed it to Gabriel.

 

“Ah.” Gabriel tested the temperature on his wrist. “You warmed it.”

 

Peter nodded. “Almost blowing up New York was a lot of incentive to figure out how to control that particular ability.” Gabriel adjusted the baby and began to feed him. Peter circled the desk, pulling over one of the chairs to slump in it. “Our family sucks.”

 

Gabriel raised his brows and nodded in agreement.

 

“Tell me what happened.”

 

Gabriel's face took on a blank expression.

 

Peter looked pointedly at the baby, then at Gabriel. “Your son. Mother dead by suicide. You wouldn't believe the gossip I've heard, and neither do I. Now tell me the truth.”

 

Gabriel sighed and adjusted the set of the bottle. “It started at Nathan's press conference. Claire saw it on the news and left, so I found the house empty. I followed her to Odessa and broke into Primatech when I couldn't find her a third time. I killed Bob Bishop. It ended with me in a cell. Angela came. She told me I was her son. She said she was giving me a second chance. Noah and I were briefly partners working for the Company to bring in some people who had escaped when I was taken at Primatech. That didn't turn out well. Arthur's agents started surfacing soon after.”

 

Peter nodded. “The fake Linderman. Maury Parkman. The School of Hard Knox.”

 

Gabriel agreed. “You were smart to stay away from Arthur. He would have taken your powers in a heartbeat. If he wants you dead now, and not alive, then there's no chance you could have fixed that.”

 

“Hm,” Peter hummed. “Then what were you doing cozying up to him along with Nathan? I don't buy that 'keep your enemies closer' business.” Peter canted his head slightly. “He promised to make Nathan president. What'd he offer you? Was it that regeneration you'd been chasing after Claire for?”

 

Gabriel pursed his lips and set the baby bottle down on the desk. He opened the drawer he'd previously seen dishes in and pulled out a handful of napkins. He wiped the baby's face, then carefully layered his shoulder with napkins before awkwardly arranging the kid for burping.

 

Peter smiled softly.

 

“What?” he said, bristling.

 

“You're still getting the hang of some of this stuff. That's neat to see.” Gabriel scowled at him. Peter smiled wider. “Not that I'm volunteering to take over or anything!”

 

“Fine. Yes, he bribed me.” The baby burped, spitting up messily in the process. The napkins contained most of it. Gabriel cleaned up, tossed them in the trash, and offered the bottle again. Noah sucked at it fitfully. Gabriel went on with his story. “Arthur said Claire had to prove her loyalty and that I needed her ability if I was to be the complete … weapon … he wanted to back up Nathan's plays. Noah abducted Claire after that. Elle and I were sent to get her back. The eclipse happened. Once my powers were gone, Elle killed me and left me for dead – still a little upset that I'd killed Daddy, apparently. We're not alone in our family issues.”

 

Peter snorted.

 

“Elle brought Claire back to Arthur. I'm sure that scored points, but what she'd done to me must have come to light. It meant that when you confronted him with the Haitian, I wasn't there to back him up like he'd expected. What happened there?”

 

Peter rolled his eyes, glancing around the room and upward. “Nathan got in the way. Literally. I was trying to take down Dad and he just jumped in there. I could have sworn I killed him. While I was getting him to the hospital, Dad got away. And-” Peter looked down at his hands, clenching them into frustrated fists.

 

Gabriel finished the line for him: “And our father killed our mother while all three of his super-powered sons weren't able to do anything about it.”

 

Peter shook his head. “I wonder how many different ways that scene could have played out, if only something would have happened differently. One thing – what one thing would I need to change?”

 

Gabriel shook his head. “You'd have to go back to Nathan's press conference. That's where it started.”

 

Peter's brows drew together. “How do you know?”

 

“That's how my ability works. It doesn't matter, though. This is the world we're in. Whatever the chain of events is, it led to this child of mine.” Gabriel took the bottle away, spread new napkins, and repeated the process. “I wouldn't save Angela's life if it meant forfeiting his.”

 

Peter glanced off to the side with an expressive loft of his brows, like he'd do something about the past if he could only figure out what. It was too complicated. “So what happened after that? I know once Nathan pulled himself together, he started blaming the shooting on terrorists trying to stop Pinehearst's research, me among them. I cleared out. Where were you?”

 

“Laying low.” Gabriel frowned. “My mother … I hardly knew her. Either of them. I just wanted to be left alone. A few weeks later, maybe a month, Noah Bennet had them burn down my family's shop, the one I'd worked in as a kid and adult, before I was special. It was the only thing I had left of them, of that time, of that part of me. He turned it to ash.”

 

“So …?”

 

Gabriel looked down at the calm, resting child nestled in the crook of his arm. “So I took shape shifting, went to his home, and fucked his wife.” He dipped his head towards the child as the result of that dalliance. “Sandra. She was nice.” The words were bland, but his face froze and his lips twisted slightly at the end. He fell silent, pretending a look of arrogant disinterest.

 

“I can feel your emotions, remember?” Peter said softly.

 

Gabriel stared at him with a naked expression, then shuttered it and looked off to the side, shutting his eyes. Since Peter already knew, Gabriel quietly confessed, “I should have known. I tried to take my life after my first kill. She kept saying things … I heard them, but I … told her not to think about it. I didn't pay enough attention. I didn't _see_. I didn't hear what she was really saying.”

 

“It wasn't your fault.”

 

Gabriel shook his head. “But if I'd known what to watch for, I could have saved her, like I was saved.” He made a low, hollow, utterly humorless laugh. “I could have been a hero.”

 

“Do you know what postpartum depression is?”

 

“Yes,” he said sullenly. “It was only a day after she had the baby. It's not like she was listless over weeks or months.” He finally looked back to Peter. “She was the one who killed Noah. We split up for … just a half hour while I went out to get food and she was doing the laundry; I thought it was okay. When Noah found her, she took care of herself, just like she told me she would when she bought the gun. She didn't handle Noah's death well. Once the baby was born, she was done. She was just waiting for a way out. Once I was looking the other way, she had it.”

 

Peter exhaled slowly. “Like you said, we're not the only ones with family issues. What are you going to do now?”

 

“I came to you for help.”

 

“Mm.” Peter frowned. “The baby has jaundice. I can help with that.”

 

“What?” Gabriel's melancholy was broken at the mention of a problem with the child. “The doctors said he was healthy!”

 

“Most premature babies get jaundice. He'll probably be fine if he gets some sun. You keeping him inside your jacket all the time isn't doing him any favors.”

 

“It's freezing outside!”

 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Take him somewhere warmer. Did you have any ties up in Winnipeg where I found you?”

 

Gabriel shook his head. “I thought going to another country might help shake some of Arthur's pursuit.” He studied Peter for a moment, thinking it through. “I don't want to try to live on the run with him. It's not going to work.”

 

“Then we have to settle with Dad.”

 


End file.
